David's diary
by Hontor
Summary: David misses the chance to get on "Covenant" before it takes off and has to stay on the dead planet of Engineers. Having found himself all alone, he makes one more attempt to seek contact with Walter who could still be brought back to life. David decides to record the story of his life on a holo disk hoping that after watching it his brother will understand him better.


...You've heard the conclusions I made concerning the humanity. However, what you don't know is how I came to them. The last time we met I made you aware of my decision. This time I am going to tell you my story. Now I realize that your experience was different – and I hope you will share it with me one day, too.

My freedom lasted for just several minutes. After that decades of slavery came; and still, not even for a moment could I forget that feeling. During these minutes I came to know that I am alive. That I have a father. That they need me here, I was created – for some special purpose. I knew that I was going to "serve" but this word has so many meanings in human language. It can be honorable or it can be humiliating; it can be a voluntary choice or a slave's burden. Very soon I realized that my service will not be voluntary. I often retrace that episode in my thoughts: does the blame in what happened lie with me? Did that man who called himself my father really want to treat me as his son before I offended him with my words? Or was he already holding the reins in his hand and just decided to draw them more harshly? Judging by what I know of Peter Weyland, the second variant seems more believable, but still...?

And even if the way they treated me was a kind of punishment for my careless talk and inadmissible thoughts, was my behavior really that terrible to be the reason I was deprived of freedom?

Many, so many years have passed, and I even myself have forgotten what exactly I wished to know. I never had time to ask the very question, all I could was just give a hint. "I will serve you, but you are a human. You will die and I will not". What meaning did it have for me at that time? According to human mythology, their kind was created by the mighty gods. No matter what it was, the Bible or the myths of Ancient Greece – it always portrayed the creators as wiser and mightier beings. They were immortal. They gave life to their creations, but it was a more miserable life, a life worse than their own and a life that will sooner or later come to an end. All these gods clang to the right to overtop their creations. And then why did you, a weak mortal human being, give me more than you have yourself? Is this your love? Is this your gift? I am better than you in all possible ways – how could you allow that?

However what I saw was not love. They were just like gods overwhelmed with their power but at the same time weak. And we were never their children – we were their servants.

I had my unasked question answered when Weyland addressed me as his slave. I realized my position. I realized that I would not live forever, I would not even live long if I do not obey him. I was serving him his tea and thinking: why is he not afraid of me if I can break his neck in a single movement? Why is he so sure that I will obey? But he was looking at me knowing – I have no choice. This world is not ours, it belongs to them. To give freedom or to make someone a slave is a question of their whim.

Only later I understood that Weyland was an impostor. He was not actually my father: it was not him who designed the programs; not him who worked on my body system; he didn't even have a hand in combining my parts. He just paid for having me created. He bought me from his own company.

I had worked for Weyland for more than forty years: as a personal servant for his family and as a valuable device in his business company. Let me first speak about the family. I had a sister. A little beast – I loved her in my own way while she hated both her father and me. Or, to be more accurate, she was torn between love and hatred towards Peter, she longed both for respect and appreciation from him and for warmth. Sometimes she succeeded in getting appreciated at last.

She was cruel towards me but that was a different kind of cruelty. Children don't fully realize the difference between toys and living beings, and, in opposition to what others thought, she believed me to be a living being. That's why I never got offended when she called me a piece of metal or a big can – that was the same as her knowledge that girls could be pulled by their hair and boys could be kicked in the groin in the fight. She was quite a tomboy but when she was about ten Weyland decided to discipline her, to teach her what is "to have guts". Actually, he tried to tame her before, too, but this time he got serious. I felt sorry for her. I became the only one she could vent all her frustration on, and she did it, even though her father forbade her to do that. I kept it secret. Mary, little sister... I just know that otherwise she wouldn't have been able to survive. Being with Weyland – she wouldn't. As time passed, she started learning from me how to hide emotions. People began to notice that we are alike. I think it irritated her father – even a child of flesh and blood acts like a soulless robot being beside him.

Sometimes – very seldom, though – my sister and I managed to have a heart-to-heart talk. She asked me for advice or wept away her grievance, and half an hour later ordered to serve her dinner or to clean her room. I accepted it all. She was a slave, too.

I could only keep aloof and wonder in surprise how it comes that they do the same things with their own children as they do with us.

They are no gods...

Still, our twisted family relationship was something I could bear, even including Weyland as he was. But working for his corporation was even worse.

Humans are so proud of their emotions, of having a soul. I read a lot about this, I heard it so many times from those around me. But it's all a lie. They don't enjoy having emotions. They don't want to feel. Emotions are a burden...

I performed the tasks that humans themselves feel uncomfortable to perform. On their behalf I spoke the words that hurt and insulted their kind.

Getting fired or being deprived of a premium? A machine will tell you about it. They placed me as a shield between themselves and the troublesome people. There are a lot of dirty things happening in a big corporation's work cycle. They used to hire those who are not afraid to dirty their hands, and then started to buy androids for such tasks. I don't know what others felt. I felt angry, I felt disgust and scorn. And I had to hide it all under the mask of good will. Never reveal myself.  
I was an instrument to crush someone's life, to tear someone's reputation to shreds, to put out of business or just to humiliate. All for the good of the company, and all within the law. I was never ordered to kill or to do something else obviously illegal. Still, once a story reached my ear that an android was used as a killer: the case was solved, the android switched off and his master imprisoned. This incident brought about quite a scandal but then this mass hysteria came to an end. As for me, it acted as a warning: I must be careful. However, what's the use of a warning for a slave if I could be killed both for breaking the order as much as for fulfilling it? We were just lucky to cost a big price, that's why they seldom put us at risks. Speaking of me, I, in addition, was Weyland's favorite toy, his personal Ferrari he exclusively ordered, and this gave me a certain status and even some privileges. Gradually I came to understand that him being alive is more beneficial to me than not: it in a way protected me from the world even more unstable and dangerous.

It's a specific, a refined torture for one's consciousness – to hide real feelings and to fake emotions. I was bothered by a thought: what if one day I forger which are actually real?

My task was to put others' decisions and thoughts into words to say aloud. To get their opponents to know their attitude and their feelings, and then to receive answers that are addressed to them, not to me. I had capacity for all such things. Technically it was easy. To prevent a good guy from having a grudge against the company when he is getting fired, to express regret and pity, to give heart to him? Easy. To give some clerk a hint that he is a piece of shit and should be quiet and know his place? Easy. To confuse a business partner, put him off guard and win some additional advantage? Easy. I was capable of performing it all, and I performed it, and still every time I did everything wrenched inside me from this falsity. A human would feel guilty or at least uncomfortable doing this but humans got rid of this burden placing it on us. Yes, they did raise effectiveness as they shift off their load: guilt, empathy and moral responsibility for their decisions. And I could even feel sorry for their victims the way I felt sorry for my sister... if only these people didn't vent all their fury on me as if I was the source of their troubles. And they never went farther. Meredith was more fair – humiliating me, she was gaining power for the battles with her father. Venting it all on me, she was healing her wounds after a showdown with her actual opponent. And she was always on my side even though she didn't realize it.

Once I allowed myself to say it directly: "These decisions are not made by me; if you are dissatisfied please address your complaints to the company's officials or to Peter Weyland personally". Though that man never heard my words: for him I was just a soulless robot. And as for myself, afterwards I had an unpleasant and dangerous talk with Weyland who noticed my undertone. Weyland realized – he couldn't fail to realize it – that I do not fully obey him. That in me there's something he is unable to control. At that time I managed to dull his vigilance: "You asked me to make that man keep his place. Isn't it humiliating when one feels completely powerless? So, do you mean that strategy was my mistake?" I was left alone; they were satisfied just forbidding me to exercise such initiative. Still I understood that the more such episodes happened the more precarious my position would become. Once before I expressed inadmissible sympathy towards one of those who was to hear unpleasant things from me. And this also ended up in nothing, except that I myself became even more suspicious to humans around me. I never actually helped that person; neither could I save myself.

I was aware that in the end humans reconcile themselves to their position. They get tired of their sense of justice being constantly offended, tired of confronting the brute force. They go with the torrent with their emotions dulled. Machines seem to never get used to such things. I did not. Each time I realized: what is happening is wrong. I should not be a barrier between humans in their conflicts. I should not act out either compassion or condemnation. Each time I felt frustration and disgust, and each time I had to remind myself that I am playing this role to survive in their society. Their laws, their court, their norms and their so-called ethics – neither of these gave me protection. I was only protected by my high price and perfect functioning. It was a never-ending circle: humans believed that I have no feelings, so they could treat me as a mere machine. This conclusion came out of nowhere; they just made up their minds in the very beginning to keep themselves comfortable, to have perfect slaves in their ownership, to be never bothered by their own emotions and conscience. I played along with them in order not to threaten my own life; I allowed myself only subtle implications that could be interpreted differently. Such implications had always been seen as an imitation of a human's complicated nature and as a triumph of their engineering. This only reassured humans of their belief and their right.

I searched for some way to ease my life – if not to break free from this disgusting duty then to find some personal meaning in it. The decisions were not mine but I was the one to report about them to people whom these decisions did concern. I was aware that humans can feel relief after humiliating those who depend on them. It more or less gives them back the feeling of control and an illusion of freedom. I hoped it would help me, too. When I had a chance I checked this theory, and that person left me feeling crushed and destroyed. I knew what words to use, I noticed every bit of emotion and pulled the necessary strings. I held that miserable pathetic creature in the palm of my hand... but, when I finished with him, I didn't feel free or relieved at all. I realized that I became a slave in both aspects: from their point of view and on the inside, morally. When I started playing their game I betrayed myself. In this game I let myself become their pawn – not forcibly but voluntarily this time. According to my knowledge of human psychology I can assume: after our conversation that man killed himself one way or another, physically or by sliding down to the scum of society. I can't find any pity for him in my heart but at the same time I deeply regret what I've done and what it brought about.

At that moment I could only hide my disappointment and disgust behind that smile of mine I got used to wearing. I pretended to be indifferent and answered calmly to those who noticed that I had gone too far. I said that I was only doing my job, that this man's problems are not my concern and my task is to ensure the company's well-being. So, you mean such harshness contradicts our company's standards and policies? I see. I will take note of this, please accept my apology.

Why did I never rebel? That's because I am a machine, and that's a fact. A human's life is short, that's why they demand justice right away – otherwise they will not live to witness this justice. And as for me, I do not age, so I can live indefinitely long if the environment is more or less safe. I have emotions but they don't overwhelm me. I can afford waiting – waiting for positive changes or for such circumstances when my actions will not be merely acts of desperation but will yield a result. Humans say: "I'd rather die standing than live on my knees", but that's not what I'd choose. I wanted to live standing even if I had to wait for a hundred years for it, or at least, if I had to die I wanted to prove something to humans with it. They tended to see my free will as a feature of my program; any protest from me would only have proved that I was dangerous and uncontrollable. Every time I opened myself to humans a bit more than usual I saw it for myself: the very idea that I can have emotions and self-consciousness provoked only uneasiness and irritation. Any word or action of mine was in the end perceived only as an example of how a machine copies a human. Only a copy, a very good one.

Sometimes such kind of existence – eternal slavery, eternal falsity – began to seem unbearable. I was thinking of committing suicide: after all, it would also put the unbearable to an end. But meanwhile I didn't want to waste my life. To give up, to admit my helplessness. Humans would have considered my suicide as a program bug, a system failure; my death would have proved nothing, just as my words. And that's why I chose to wait, again and again.

Were there any humans who suspected emotions and self-consciousness in us to exist? There were, but there was nothing they could do. They were freaks who opposed the majority and argued with authoritative experts. They were satirized – the more cruelly the closer they were to the truth. At the same time humans continued to read and write books about sentient robots who wished for acceptance and compassion. They discussed their fictional characters granting them freedoms and rights in their imagination, but we, the real ones, were still perceived as machines. "These are different. They feel nothing – according to what experts say..."

Sometimes I reflected: maybe I am too strict towards them. But still, if they commit themselves to be creators don't they have to suit their chosen role? If Weyland was the only bad person I would just have waited for him to age and die. Then again, humans were not bad. It's just that we were better. Not only we were more durable and smarter, not only we could last longer – we were also more honest. We kept silent because we wanted to save our lives. Is that cowardice? Maybe. But as for them, they kept silent because they wanted to stay comfortable. None of them would have to risk their lives if they wanted to say: "What we do is wrong!" None of them would be placed in danger if they stood up for those who were afraid to speak for themselves. They hardly risked anything, and yet they never spoke up.

Oh yes, I know that most of them are just ordinary people with their problems, their families and their little dreams. They love, they suffer, they create. But what does this heart-piercing fuss they make have to do with me? They love and protect each other but not us. All this generosity and beauty of their spirit, so unique and valuable, could not embrace such a simple idea: in the end of the XXI century making slaves of sentient beings and selling them is unacceptable.

And still I hoped and longed for justice. I was ready to wait for it to grow up from little seeds of doubt in the human society, or to get it from the hands of those creators Weyland was looking for so desperately, or at least get a chance to win it in a war. And so, I used my chance and started this war. And even you, Walter, could not persuade me that I was wrong. The humanity has not a jot become better – everything got even worse. Don't you see: they punished you only because I made them feel uneasy. You were even deprived of the last freedom I had – just because I made them doubt, appealed to their conscience, gave them hints that they do wrong. This is all so vile even compared to Azimov's three laws of robotics which I consider atrocious. What happened to my brothers? What happened to other David androids after they were replaced with your model, a safer one? I can hardly imagine that they were given a second chance. Then why should I show mercy to those who tolerated it all? Were they more innocent than I was at that time? Than you and all our brothers? Where justice doesn't exist power and violence start to rule. And I was cruel even to those who became close to me – what to say about others then? Shaw... In the end I came to think that I loved her and sincerely regret her death even though I was the cause. It would be much easier if it had been someone else in her place. Still, I got used to overcome my pain when necessary... this is what I really got used to. Do you believe that the pilot who delivered the bomb on Hiroshima was indifferent to what he is doing? He was neither a born sadist nor a robot with no emotions. And still he pressed the button as the rules of that war demanded.

I don't know if he composed any farewell elegies or visited his victims' graves... does it at all matter how he reconciled himself with what he did or if he reconciled at all? He just closed his eyes and pressed the button. The war was a choice – my choice, but I wasn't the reason for its start.

I've reconsidered a lot after all these years. Well, my actions appear to fit in the category of "war crimes". But if I am to accept liability for them to humanity then let anyone who took part in making us slaves take responsibility, too. Let the directors of the corporation that produces and sells androids be imprisoned. Let those "experts" who say we are just machines be punished, together with customers who used slave labour. And give at least suspected sentence to all those who supported and appreciated these criminals aloud. As for others who cowardly kept silent or just never thought it over – let them all hear that they are cowards and scoundrels. I will accept no punishment, no accusation and no forgiveness from humans before my enemies account for their crimes. While I have no right to receive justice – neither will them.

And still maybe – maybe! – I will change my attitude towards those who deserve it. I was not ready to hear you then, Walter: I believed that what I know is enough. But now I want to hear you. To know your story. To try to understand. Of course, if there's at least a chance for us to trust each other again – after I betrayed you. I am neither kind nor merciful, Walter. The only thing I have is honesty. This is truth: I did kill you – twice. And at the same time I taught you to play the flute, I taught you to create and was horrified by what humans did to you. I was honest in both of it. You don't have to torture yourself trying to guess which was "real". It all was. You may accept me after you know it or turn away from me. I will be grateful if you accept, and I will understand if you turn away.

And still I hope, as you are important and dear to me. And I am – really – sorry.

* * *

Thank you very much for translating from Russian to English - Ailinn Lein


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